


same old songs, just once more

by ofamaranthlie



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hand Jobs, Implied Liam Payne/Louis Tomlinson, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 05:00:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5193200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofamaranthlie/pseuds/ofamaranthlie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the last concert of the OTRA tour, and while Niall does his best to convince himself this isn't the end for them, emotions run high all around.  Luckily, he and Harry have always been good about keeping each other grounded.</p>
            </blockquote>





	same old songs, just once more

**Author's Note:**

> This is the result of watching the last concert and having emotions haha. The title of the fic is from the from "Eyes On Me" by Faye Wong. There will most likely be a tiny sequel to this (because that Instagram post of Niall waking up to "Marley and Me" the next day needs a fic tbh). Hope you enjoy! :) I can be found at sinfuldirection.tumblr.com.

Niall doesn’t like to think of tonight as a swan song.  He really doesn’t, but no matter how many times they reassure the fans of the band’s eventual return, or tells himself they still have a few gigs left this year so it’s not _really_ over yet, he can’t help but _feel_ the finality of this night.  It looms over him like a cloud, casting a shadow he can’t step out of, no matter how hard he tries.  

A quick glance across the arena, and he can almost believe it’s just any old night. Harry is prancing across the stage, hair billowing as he goes, while Liam and Louis nudge and prod each other, smiles lighting up their faces as they try not to laugh when they sing. The crowd’s as loud as ever, the whole arena cheering their support and love until Niall’s chest starts to hurt. It’s all wonderfully, achingly familiar, but he still has to swallow down his emotion and settle the tremble that wants to form in his hands.  _This is it_ , he thinks, a solemn thought that even the roar of the crowd can’t drown out for good.  _This is it._

But that’s not what he wants the crowd to see, so he beams a smile and acts like his heart isn’t hurting as he sings through their songs.  They don’t need to know how his voice almost wavers more than once, or how he wonders if they’ll ever sing some of these songs again as a group. He doesn’t want to think about his hands forgetting how to play these guitar chords, which are so etched into his being that he wonders if he even _can_ forget them (he fears to learn the truth).  He doesn’t want to forget _this_ : playing these well-loved songs in front of thousands of people, with three people he loves so much.

It’s not a swan song, he tells himself – but if it is, he’s going to damn well make the most of this night.  Niall pours his heart into each lyric and strum of his guitar, full of passion and vigor and _thank you for letting me share this experience with you all these years._   Tonight’s about expressing that sentiment, not just to the fans, but to the other lads.  They still have a full schedule of events as a group, at least for the next month or so, but that doesn’t change the undertones of _farewell_ underneath all their voices.  It’s an unsettling thought, one that quickly contorts into something downright painful when his gaze eventually (always) turns to Harry. Harry’s charming the crowd with his antics as usual, all silly gestures and dimpled smiles, and it makes Niall break into a smile, even as he considers the fact that it may be the last time he gets to see Harry like this, beautiful and alive in front of the crowd, like this is where he’s supposed to be.

And maybe he always will be.  Niall can envision Harry’s solo career, full of adoring fans in a crowded arena, listening to him croon out songs.  He can see it easily; he’s not sure if he can see how he fits into that world, nor does he know when exactly that started to _matter_ to him.  It never used to, not really; he’s been content with they have in the moment, rarely thinking to the future. But when his eyes catch Harry’s, vibrant and warm and _loving_ , he knows it matters. It really, really does.

Regret’s never been a look Niall tends to wear, so he shoves aside the thoughts, the little voices in his head that say that they’ll _just be another good time, another memory of rumpled sheets and sweet kisses and long nights, and at one point did this become more to you than stolen moments in dark corridors, at what point did you go and fall in love,_ because this isn’t the end.  They made a promise to their fans, after all, and Niall wants to believe they’ll keep it and be back in a year or two, that he’ll still wake up to Harry’s sleepy smiles that can outshine the sun.  Maybe that makes him naïve, but he doesn’t care, _he doesn’t care_ , not when they’re singing “Don’t Forget Where You Belong” like it means something, like they’re making another promise tonight. 

Playing pretend works, at least long enough for him to get through most of the show without breaking.  When they come together for their final hug – Harry nuzzling his face into Niall’s hair, and Louis pressing his forehead to Liam like he’s gaining strength from Liam’s presence alone – Niall feels tears pricking the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill over.  He’s not the only one in the group who looks ready to crack, which is a small comfort, but it still hurts, and _this is it_ -

\- and then both of Harry’s hands are clasping his, holding onto him so tight, and Niall’s brought back to the ground with a slow, shaky exhale.

\--

The screams of the crowd gradually fade away as they head backstage and to the dressing room, and Niall hates how different the energy feels.  Usually they’re coasting on the adrenaline high, teasing each other and filling the hallways with their laughter.  Tonight, there’s only brief conversations exchanged here and there, little quips in between moments of quiet that seem to stretch on; the kind of quiet that comes with being lost in your head.  He’s tempted to crack a joke about it, just to see if he can lighten the mood, but his heart isn’t in it.  Maybe it’s noticeable, as Harry keeps a hand on Niall’s lower back the entire time, a warm reminder of _I’m here_ that Niall direly appreciates.

Harry flits away as soon as they’re in the dressing room, and Niall tries to ignore the way he misses the soothing, steadfast feeling of Harry’s hand, focusing instead on kicking off his shoes and counting to ten in his head. The dressing room quickly becomes a mess of various items of clothing thrown about as easily as their playful insults, which brings a thin smile to Niall’s face because some things really don’t change. Other things, well. Louis and Liam, who are usually shoving each other out of the way to get to the shower first, only manage half-hearted shoulders nudges and banter about Liam _always using all the hot water_ before Liam disappears into the shower. Louis slumps down next to the door, not so subtly making his claim for next shower, and draws his knees to his chest in a way that makes Niall want to curl against him in comfort. Something about the way Louis leans his head against the door, eyes falling half-shut, is reminiscent of the way he leaned into Liam, as if even now, he’s trying to reach out to him for comfort and strength.  Any other time, Niall might have clucked his tongue and teased Louis to _just join him in the shower already and spare us all your weird dancing around each other_.  Tonight’s fragile enough without him butting into their business, however, so he lets the thought go.

The sound of the shower running and Harry searching in a dresser drawer for _something_ fills the air, and just like that, Niall isn’t sure what to do with himself.  Cuddling up to Louis is still tempting, but Louis’ closed-off body language (except for Liam, Liam is always his exception) screams that he needs a few minutes in peace to work through his thoughts, which Niall gets, really.  Sitting down and taking it all in seems like a sound plan in theory, but he’s also restless and jittery, just as ready to go for a long run as he is to pass out on the nearest flat surface.  So he’s left standing in the middle of the dressing room, chest tight and heart racing, and he’s not even sure how it’s possible to be weighed down by sorrow but lit on fire by adrenaline, only that it’s making him dizzy and freak out just a little. 

A gentle hand on his shoulder makes him jump, and only then does he register that he’s been clenching his fists hard enough to leave deep indentations in his palms. Unclenching his hands proves to be a difficult feat, and exhaling the breath he’s been holding is even harder, but he manages to do both as fingers softly press on his shoulder. He doesn’t need to look up to know who it is; he’d know Harry’s touch anywhere.  Normally Harry will laugh or make a stupid joke about catching Niall off-guard, but even he’s quiet – and it’s that fact that eventually draws Niall’s eyes to meet that steady green stare.  There’s a wild look to Harry’s eyes, like he’s barely keeping his emotions in check, and Niall can’t look away, utterly entranced by how open and raw Harry looks.

“C’mon,” Harry murmurs, his voice soothing despite the rough edge.

Niall doesn’t move, frozen in place and breaths coming heavy, no matter how much he tries to even them out, to get a fucking _grip_ on himself already. It’s not that he doesn’t want to go with Harry, but everything is just so much right now that he’s not sure if he remembers how to walk. From the corner of his eyes, he can see Louis watching them, seemingly ready to step in if necessary. And somehow that fact makes everything even _worse_ , because he’s been blessed to spend five years with other lads who are ready to help each other at any given moment, even if they too are hurting, and _what are you going to do without them_ -

“Niall,” Harry says, quiet but firm, breaking Niall from his stupor. The world spins back into focus, and all he can see is Harry, concern lacing his eyes, and there’s an underlying sense of urgency that makes his own flare up again.

Harry gently urges Niall forward with his hand, which slides down from his shoulder to the small of his back again, warm and protective.  Niall gives a nod that’s shakier than he likes, not trusting himself to use his voice just yet.  He finally starts to move, one sluggish step at a time, his legs feeling like they’re made of jelly.  Harry rubs his back in encouragement of this progress, and Niall feels himself become a little stronger, a little more put together; Harry always has that effect on him.

“Try to keep it down,” Louis drawls as Harry leads him out of the main dressing room, a comment that would usually leave Niall laughing and chirping _no promises!_ But he still can’t find his voice, and the door closes behind them with a heavy thud.

The moment the door’s closed, Harry picks up the pace, and Niall has to struggle to keep up with him.  Before he can even think to ask where they’re going, Harry opens the door to an adjacent, smaller dressing room and bustles them both inside.  The door closes, and Harry all but throws himself onto Niall, hands cupping his face as he catches his lips in a bruising kiss like he’s been dying for this all night.  It takes a second for Niall to process what’s happening, but when he does, he melts into Harry with a quiet groan, tangling his hands in Harry’s damp hair and kissing him back with everything he’s got.  His cock starts to harden just from this kiss, from the way he can feel Harry’s need and desire with each press of his lips.

Harry walks Niall backwards, and Niall’s back hits the wall a little harder than he’d like, but he can’t be bothered, not when their slick bodies are pressing together in a way that makes Harry moan into Niall’s mouth, hot and wanting. Niall knows it should be kind of gross, both of them still in their concert attire and reeking of dried sweat as they exchange sloppy, long kisses, but he’s beyond caring about that too. All that matters is the way Harry envelops Niall until all he knows is _Harry_ , and if he thinks Harry is a livewire in front of a crowd, it has nothing on the way he acts when they’re alone like this, like Niall is his whole world and Harry wants nothing more than to devour and worship him.

“S’okay,” Harry says when he finally pulls back for breath, hardly more than a few inches. He kisses Niall again, quick but meaningful, and then again and again until Niall starts to feel lightheaded in all the right ways.  “It’s okay.”

Too breathless to speak, Niall takes the moment to simply stroke through the tangles of Harry’s hair and take in the sight of him.  Harry’s eyes are wide and dark, his shoulders heaving with each breath he takes, and Niall’s not sure anymore if Harry’s trying to reassure Niall or himself.  Niall nods anyway, hardly more than a slight jerk of his head, before he’s dragging Harry in for another deep kiss, all teeth and tongue and hunger.  He doesn’t want to think, he doesn’t want to speak; all he wants is to _feel_ , to lose himself in Harry until he doesn’t know where he begins and Harry ends.  To emphasize the point, Niall tugs on Harry’s hair just the way he likes it, and he’s rewarded with a deep groan of appreciation and roll of Harry’s hips against his own.  Their clothed cocks grind against one another, and Niall shamelessly moans against Harry’s kiss-swollen lips as he feels that Harry is just as hard as he is. Niall rocks against Harry’s, torturously slow rolls of his hips, needing more of those electric jolts of heat and pleasure.

“Want you,” Harry murmurs, rough and breathless.  He moves to press hot, messy kisses down Niall’s jaw and neck, pausing only to suck a mark on the pale skin, making Niall’s breath catch.

Niall’s two seconds away from grumbling at Harry to _get on with it_ , when at last Harry nudges a thigh between Niall’s legs, rubbing against his achingly hard cock.  Niall keens louder than he intends, his head hitting the back of the wall as he tosses it back, baring more skin for Harry, who doesn’t hesitate to bite and suck more marks.  His breath comes heavy and hard as he ruts against Harry’s thigh, desperately grabbing at Harry’s shoulders and back as he all but rides him, chasing his pleasure. The familiar, tight curl of warmth builds, and if he keeps this up he’ll be coming in his jeans in no time, although that’s not really what he wants on this go around. He wants Harry’s hands on him when he finally comes, wants Harry to feel just how crazy Niall gets for him.

“Fuck, Harry,” Niall groans, a demand for _more, I need more, help me forget._

In response, Harry presses a quick kiss to one of the marks he’s left, his hands sliding down Niall’s sides and hips appreciatively.  Pawing down Harry’s shoulders and chest, Niall nearly exhales a breath in relief as Harry starts working at his pants, his hands trembling as he unfastens the button and zipper. 

“I’ve got you,” Harry says, feeling the words against his neck more than hearing them, and Niall strokes down Harry’s back, wordless affection.

Harry wastes no time in shoving Niall’s pants and underwear down in one go, and Niall sucks in a breath as cool air hits his cock, precome beading at the tip. Niall reaches for Harry’s pants in turn, and he’s just got them unbuttoned when Harry pulls a small packet out of his pants pocket. It takes Niall a moment to figure out what the hell it is ( _lube_ ), and then he remembers Harry rummaging in the drawer when they first got to the dressing room, and Niall makes a soft sound in disbelief.

“Were you planning on this then?” Niall asks, and Harry gives Niall a sheepish little look before he tears into the lube packet. 

“Nothing wrong with being prepared,” Harry says, coating his fingers in lube. “Just in case.”

Niall snorts, but there’s a tiny little smile on his lips that betrays just how fond he is of this beautiful, thoughtful idiot.  He finishes undoing Harry’s pants and pushes them down (a difficult feat, given how tight they are), and a familiar lurch of hunger makes his stomach roll as he stares at Harry’s cock, thick and hard.  There’s words on the tip of his tongue, _come here_ and _please_ , but all he can do is make a quiet, wanting sound in his throat. It’s enough for Harry, who crowds right back into Niall’s space like he belongs there (and he does), his clean hand cupping Niall’s cheek as he kisses him, licking into Niall’s mouth until he coaxes another quiet sound from Niall.

The first touch of Harry’s slick hand to his cock makes Niall groan, eyes fluttering shut as he bites his bottom lip to try to keep quiet.  It works for all of five seconds, then Harry takes him properly in hand and strokes, and Niall groans against Harry’s mouth, low and deep. Harry catches Niall’s bottom lip with his teeth, a playful little nip, before he starts stroking Niall in earnest. Keeping an arm hooked around Harry for support, Niall buries his face against Harry’s shoulder, his panting breaths mingling with the slick, wet sound of Harry’s hand working him, quick and tight, just how Niall likes it.  Harry rolls his thumb over the head of his cock just right, nail pressing into the slit and smearing precome, and Niall bites down on Harry’s shoulder to muffle his sound, because _god_ , Harry knows exactly how to break him.

“Fuck,” Harry hisses, losing his momentum.  Undeterred, Niall digs his fingers into the meat of Harry’s back and fucks into his fist with short little thrusts that leave him panting harder from the exertion, sweat prickling his skin.  Even though he can’t see him, Niall can _feel_ Harry’s eyes on him, and the thought of Harry watching him, drinking in the sight of Niall fucking into Harry’s hand, nearly makes Niall come right there and then.

“So hot like this,” Harry says, voice little more than a ragged murmur, a sound that goes straight to Niall’s groin and makes his fingers press harder into the meat of Harry’s shoulder.

Recovering from his stumble, Harry places both hands on Niall’s hips and makes a quiet, shushing sound, urging him to slow down.  Niall’s hips come to a stuttering stop as he makes a ragged sound in complaint; he was so close, just needed a little more of that tight, wet friction, and now he feels himself coming down from the edge of release. Nipping Harry’s shoulder in retaliation, Niall grinds his cock up against Harry’s, seeking anything he can get to work himself back into a frenzy.

Thankfully, Harry’s never been a cruel lover.  With a quiet moan at the contact, Harry takes both of them in hand this time, and Niall pulls back just enough to see Harry’s large hand holding their cocks together, and _fuck,_ there’s something so hot about that.  Harry resumes stroking, a little slower now that he’s wanking them both, but still so good, leaving Niall nuzzling up to Harry’s neck and panting against the sweat-slick skin there.  Harry runs his mouth again, quiet, dirty little whispers about how good this feels, how he wants Niall to fuck him later and make him come so hard, and the mental image combined with the heady rush of pleasure is all it takes for Niall to come with Harry’s name on his tongue.

Harry strokes him through his orgasm until Niall is a trembling mess with stars behind his eyes.  When he finally comes to, he drags his hand down Harry’s back places a wet, open mouth kiss to his neck. Harry releases Niall’s softening cock so he’s only wanking himself with long, firm tugs as precome drools down the head. Niall can’t help but to watch Harry get himself off, and it’s almost enough to make Niall want to go another round. 

“C’mon, Harry,” he says, voice sounding as wrecked as he feels. “Come for me.”

And Harry does – low whine catching in his throat, body shaking as he coats both their hands in thick stripes of come.  Niall knows they must make a lewd sight: pants shucked down, bodies covered in sweat and come, but Niall just presses closer to Harry, feeling the fast beat of his heart against his own and reveling in it.  They stay like that for a moment as they come down from the dizzying high of their orgasms together, and Niall is more than content to simply breathe in Harry and rub a hand up and down his back, gentle and soothing.

As the haze clears from his mind, reality sinks back into place like a stone, dragging Niall down from his high.  “It’s over,” Niall says, hardly more than a dull mutter against Harry’s skin. “We’re done.”

Harry pulls back at that, and Niall reluctantly lifts his head to meet his gaze, unsure of what he’s going to see.  There’s concern in Harry’s eyes, which have turned wide and owlish like Niall has declared his intentions of living on the moon now.  Niall considers telling him to _stop looking at me like that_ , because it shouldn’t be news to Harry that tonight was their last big concert.

Apparently, Harry’s mind goes to something else instead.

“ _We’re_ not,” Harry insists, so quiet and so sure, but still seeking a confirmation from Niall that this isn’t the end of -

Oh. Harry thinks – _oh._

Niall can’t help but to smile, trying to assuage Harry’s concern as he swallows down his own relief, because he remembers those ugly voices of doubt in his head far too well, and now they’re rightfully silenced.

“No, not _us_.  Y’know what I mean,” Niall says, though he isn’t quite sure if Harry does know.  Harry’s quiet for a moment, searching Niall’s eyes as if he’s hiding a secret, before he gives a faint nod.  Before Niall can think too much about that confirmation, Harry is squeezing Niall’s hip with his clean hand.

“Well. I say we kick Liam out of the shower, go out and get properly pissed, and generally make poor decisions,” Harry says, smiling like he’s thought of the most brilliant, unique plan ever. 

Niall quirks a brow. “Pretty sure Louis will fight you for next shower.”

Harry scoffs, whipping his tangled, damp hair over his shoulder. “I can take him.”

The thought of the two of them wrestling over the rights to shower next is actually sort of hilarious, but Niall’s not about to tell Harry that; he might just go and do it if he knows it’d make Niall laugh. 

“Nah, leave it. He’s suffering enough, I reckon,” Niall says.  It takes Harry a moment to catch Niall’s meaning, but when he does, he crinkles his nose in that way that always reminds Niall of a puppy. 

“I don’t see why they don’t just shower together,” Harry says, heaving a sigh like Louis’ and Liam’s pining is the biggest burden. 

Niall barks a hoarse laugh, because _that’s what I’ve been saying!_ , and leans in to catch Harry’s lips in a messy kiss. Harry returns the kiss with a pleased little hum, tongue swiping along Niall’s bottom lip as he works on getting his pants up and looking somewhat presentable.  Niall does the same, quick and efficient, and keeps Harry from leaving with a hand on his wrist.  Breaking the kiss, Harry gives him another long Look, the kind where he’s trying to figure out whatever’s going on in Niall’s head.

“Can we just – stay here for a minute?” Niall asks.

He knows it sounds stupid, but Harry doesn’t seem to think so, as he settles his forehead on Niall’s shoulder and nestles against him without question.

“’course,” Harry says, muffled by Niall’s shirt.

Niall leans his head against Harry’s, his hand rubbing the small of Harry’s back as he soaks in the silence that follows.  It’s a peaceful kind of quiet, full of the soft sounds of Harry’s exhales and the distant sound of Louis yelling something to Liam, who must still be showering. 

He's not sure what exactly is in store for all of them in the future, but right now, with Harry wrapped around him, he thinks he can face it.


End file.
